Chelsea Fagan

I think the idea here is that, even if you’re having sex (of which you should not be having too much, because God forbid you break your vagina and lose the warranty or something) you shouldn’t be sharing.

I’m not saying you need to end up in prison, but maybe a brush with a jail cell for a night or two every so often would do you some good.

Ask yourself why you so tightly limit the things you take pride in, why you set your own hurdles for happiness and fulfillment so much higher than you do with anyone else in your life.

Have a really professional-sounding voicemail for absolutely no reason. The more legitimate and important it sounds, the better, even if you’re currently unemployed. In fact, especially if you’re unemployed.

You wish you could ignore it, but it’s all you can think of. As your mutual friends all turn their eyes to you — waiting for you to lose it, waiting for you to go into “crazy ex” mode and start implicating them in your messiness — you can’t help but turn your eyes to the new couple.

We all know people who, after completing college or a final internship, return back to their hometowns and begin life where it left off — often doing the same things socially, hanging out with the same people, and making the same choices.

You are a little too classic for your own good. You probably like vanilla ice cream, roller coasters that don’t go very high, and boys that call you back at a reasonable hour.

Because I am the kind of girl who will call you too much — who will fall neatly under the labels of “crazy” or “needy” because her emotions tend to spill out all at once, and in full color.

There is no rule which says that we can’t have acquaintances. There is certainly a place in life for people whom you know on a very shallow level, but with whom you always have a perfectly fine time.

Now is the time to go to that hallowed hall of all things “This Drink Cost More Than My Dress,” Forever 21.

Whether you’re one of the Nice Guys who take pictures of themselves wearing a fedora and complaining about how shallow women are with no irony, or you’re a walking Taylor Swift song who thinks every girl who manages to get a boyfriend when you don’t is an evil slut, you are just not making it to the “romance” stage.

We all have that one tone-deaf peasant on our news feed who spends their time posting upwards of 10 posts a day, on topics ranging from idiotic political arguments to YouTube videos of songs that no one wants to listen to.

Accept that, in many situations, you are going to be the one who ends up loving more, loving longer, and loving more painfully. Know that this doesn’t make you a bad or faulty person.

It’s a scientifically proven fact that the more pastel-colored your electronics are, the better your life is.

She is the true wifey material, not like all of those other hoes who eat ramen noodles and let forks chill in their sink, unwashed, for days at a time. She is the future mother of your well-fed children.

As anyone who has seen his abs in Crazy, Stupid, Love can attest, he has reached the point of hotness which ceases to be registered on any human scale and has now become theoretical hotness, only to be discussed in more academic circles.

Wonderful performance of a wonderful song.

The searching is perhaps the worst part, the breathless moments before the floor falls out from underneath you.